


The Nearness of You

by lazarus_girl



Series: Louisville Universe [1]
Category: Glee
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:19:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,943
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612794
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lazarus_girl/pseuds/lazarus_girl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When she receives an unexpected email, Santana drives through the night to see Brittany, unaware of the true toll their separation is taking.</p><p>
  <i> “It doesn't make sense. Brittany isn't like this.”</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Nearness of You

**Author's Note:**

> AU (ish). Follows established S1-S3 canon. Contains spoilers for everything up to and including 4x02 ‘Brittany 2.0.’ Set somewhere 4x02 and 4x03 ‘Makeover.’ Inspired by the Norah Jones song 'The Nearness of You.' Origin of the Louisville Universe. Thank you to [@cargoes](http://cargoes.tumblr.com/) for her beta skills and cheerleading.

***

_I need no soft lights to enchant me_   
_if you will only grant me_   
_the right to hold you ever so tight_   
_and to feel in the night_   
_the nearness of you_

***

It’s after midnight when she gets in from practice, hair still slightly wet and curling at the ends. Nicole, her roommate is asleep already, nothing of her visible apart from a shock of red hair peeking out from the covers.

The dorm looks like a bomb’s hit it, because they’ve both been cramming for tests and essay prep. It’s times like this she misses Brittany. If Brittany were here, she’d have someone to help her into bed and kiss away all her aches and pains. She’d have a warm bed and a warm beautiful body next to her. Except, Brittany’s not here; she’s back in Lima, probably tucked up all nice in bed.

Too wired to sleep, she sinks into her desk chair. Her laptop’s still open, so she taps a key to make it spring to life. The more email she answers now, the less she has to do before class tomorrow. She wishes she hadn’t given herself such a heavy load, but all she was interested in was keeping herself busy – so she didn’t have space to think about Brittany and how much she misses her – and pleasing her father with the news when he came into Louisville after some medical conference and took her to dinner. In theory, it sounds impressive. In practice, it’s killing her, but she’s determined to do well. Brittany and Coach Sylvester scored her this spot, she’ll be damned if she wastes it, letting down Brittany and making a mockery of Coach’s positively glowing reference in the process.

Her inbox is mostly crap, and she’s kind of regretting giving her Louisville address out as her main point of contact. It doesn’t feel like hers yet. She kind of misses logging into the email she had all through high school (snixtrix@gmail.com). She misses the cutesy little messages from Brittany, the random borderline offence jokes and forwards from Puck, school gossip and TMZ links from Mercedes, the novellas from Quinn and Rachel about assignments or song choices for that week’s glee rehearsals. She misses it all. Even Kurt’s random fashion round-ups and shopping trip reminders whenever they had school dances or parties to go to.

After some things about registration for classes, feedback on her last paper, pep rally information, and the welcome messages from the faculty and Nicole that she’s yet to delete, there’s little else there, until a new message pops up before her eyes from someone called Tad Hewitson. She doesn’t know anyone called Tad. Sure, she’s batted away some attention at parties, but no one’s name stuck, and they don’t have a Louisville address either.

_To: s.m.lopez@louisville.edu_   
_From: tad.hewitson@gmail.com_   
_Subject: Something You Should See_   
_Attachments: JBIvlog-09_20_2012.avi_

_Santana,_

_I got your email from Artie Abrams, I hope you don’t mind. I feel weird about emailing this to you, because even though we went to the same school, and shared the same classes, we never actually spoke to each other. I’m a member of the AV Club with Jacob Ben Israel, and I’m the cameraman for his vlog._

_We were filming a segment today in the hall, Jacob was doing his gossip round-up, and well, everyone’s been talking about Brittany. I don’t know how much you know about it all, but she’s not doing great without you. I know, it’s creepy, I know a lot about you, and you know nothing about me, but I’d always see you guys together, and Brittany’s always kind to me. I guess that’s why I wanted to contact you and share this video, because, well, she wasn’t so kind to Jacob today. He was asking her some questions, and I think he just caught her at a bad time, and he happened to push her a little bit too far. You probably know already from Brittany that something happened, but I think it’s important you see this._

_I get it, he’s annoying, he gets on people’s nerves, and this is probably what he deserves for getting in everyone’s face for so long, but I’ve never seen Brittany like this, and I doubt you have either. It kinda scared me, if I’m honest. It’s sad to see her like that._

_Jacob’s fine, just a dent in his ego, some bruises, and maybe a fear of umbrellas! Jokes aside, I don’t think he’s going to say anything to his parents or Principal Figgins, so Brittany won’t get in trouble. I don’t think Jacob will want to re-live the experience, but if he tries to take it further, I’ll try and help if I can. Brittany’s the nicest Class President we’ve had, so I wouldn’t want her to lose her candidacy._

_If you’re worrying about this being uploaded anywhere, don’t be. I wouldn’t do that. There are no copies of this apart from the one I’m sending today, and I erased it from my camera._

_I don’t even know if you’ll respond, but please, just let me know if you got this. You can Skype me @ hewitsonprod if you want to know anything else._

_I’m sorry if the video upsets you, that wasn’t my intention at all, but just be prepared._

_Tad._

***

If it wasn’t after twelve, she’d call Artie right now and ask him what the fuck he’s doing giving her email out to random AV nerds for, but she guesses he was justified. In fact, she’s more worried that there are no emails from him, Tina, or more tellingly, Brittany, about it all.

It clicks then: Tad’s the annoying little fucker who follows JBI around like a lost puppy, and has a seemingly endless supply of argyle sweaters. Mr. Schue used to bring him along to film their nationals performances. Brittany, Artie, Rachel and Sam were the only ones who really talked to him. She feels a weird pang of guilt that she didn’t too, because his words are so careful and kind. Her Snix mask has a lot to answer for sometimes.

It takes her five minutes of indecision, scrolling and deleting before she decides to open the video Tad sent, and just like he said she’s not really prepared.

Tad’s camera is shaky, whipping back and forth as he tries to keep steady in the chaos. There’s Brittany, her beautiful, sweet, innocent, relentlessly kind Brittany, screaming at JBI, and beating the crap out of him with an umbrella. Tears spring up of their own accord, and she puts a hand over her mouth, muffling the sound, so she doesn’t wake Nicole. It doesn’t make sense. Brittany isn’t like this. Brittany isn’t the one with the quick temper, full of rage and anger at everything and nothing. That’s her. She’s the one that hits out when someone pushes her too far. Brittany is the one that walks away. The one that talks her down from doing stupid things like this to JBI and anyone else that happens to spark her ire on any given day, because words don’t seem enough and violence feels like a better option.

She can’t even fathom how much pressure Brittany must be under to make her this angry. Brittany has the patience of a saint. She grew up in a house where violence wasn’t the answer, taught to be the bigger person and walk away. Santana hates to think of her so isolated and angry, because she at least had Brittany to pull her back whenever she felt that way. Now Brittany has no one. No one who loves her like she does. No one who’s tuned to her particular frequency, working two steps ahead of her logic.

Rewinding the video, she watches again, and she’s even more upset. Not by what Brittany’s doing, she understands that, but what she can’t get her head around, is that no one thought to stop her. The Glee kids are always together, they had to have seen. So much for family. Selfish assholes. When she sets eyes on them again, they’re not going to know what hit them. She asked Sam to look after Brittany for her, and she thought he was one of the few people she could trust, because he seemed to get what they have, and genuinely cared about them. He promised.

The girl on the screen doesn’t look the Brittany she knows and loves, and it scares her. She never should’ve left.

She slams her laptop down, grabs her keys and rushes for the door, not bothering to look back when it bangs loudly shut behind her. She doesn’t care about who she wakes up, the early morning squad drill, or her lectures. All she cares about right now is Brittany.

***

She gets all the way to Fort Mitchell, gas pedal on the floor, before she even realises how ridiculously she’s been driving, drifting between lanes and overtaking at far too quick a speed, ignoring the looks she gets from the late-night drivers and their beeping horns. Tears and tiredness don’t really mix, but she can’t get the final image of Tad’s video out of her head: Brittany’s pained face in close-up, practically screaming for her help.

They’ve tried hard, to struggle through this separation. They really have. She keeps telling herself that it’s just a little while, compared to the rest of their lives, but it doesn’t make it any easier. It doesn’t make it easier not to cry herself to sleep, knowing that Nicole is listening but never dares say anything. All she can seem to do is break down weeks into days and days into hours, crossing off when she makes it another weekend closer to going home. Brittany’s been so determined not to hold her back and ask too much of her, that she’s forgotten to ask anything of her at all.

She doesn’t know what’s sadder, that she’s standing with a cold cup of gas station coffee in one hand and a half smoked cigarette in the other, and is well on the way to crossing over two hundred miles without much thought, or the fact that Brittany didn’t think she’d drop everything and do that very thing if she needed her to.

Flicking her cigarette away, she slides her phone out of her pocket, and flips though, stopping on her favourite picture. It’s Brittany, lying in her bed, all tousled hair and mischievous smile, taken in a rare moment during the summer when Brittany wasn’t slaving away in summer school to bank credits. Her smile fades when she reaches the next one. Brittany’s pretending to be asleep, the shot angled so if she places her phone on her pillow, it looks like Brittany’s sleeping next to her. A month ago, it was an achingly sweet gesture to stop her forgetting. Now, it’s an equally painful reminder of what she doesn’t have.

It’s the impetus she needs to keep going. Tossing the coffee cup in the trash, she gets back in the car, and turns back on to the I-75, determined to make it before it gets too close to sunrise.

***

She’s never been more pleased to see the signs for Troy as she is tonight. They’ve driven through it God knows how many times before, on the way to Dayton or Columbus for concerts, but it means she’s only an hour away from Brittany now, and an hour’s nothing at all. Tiredness is getting to her, but she forces herself to stay awake, singing along to some oldies station that’s got Beach Boys on loop in between some late night talk show with a smooth-voiced DJ trying to fix the world’s problems.

When he gives out the number for listeners to call and speak to him, she gives serious thought to stopping and trying it for herself.

The sense of relief she gets when she turns into Brittany’s street, perfect Lima suburbia, lined with trees and picket fences, is immense. She’s home, or what she’s always considered to be home, and Louisville feels like another planet.

She turns into the Pierces driveway, careful not to scratch Brittany’s father’s car, and shuts off the ignition, collecting herself. The doubts creep in when she looks up at the window she knows is Brittany’s. She might not be happy to see her, especially with all the JBI crap. It’s not the sweet reunion she imagined for them – and she’s imagined it a lot – but then, they never did go about things properly. Who starts with sex and ends with holding hands in public?

She swallows hard, steeling herself, flipping down the sun visor to check her hair her lipstick out of habit – it’s barely light – and she realises what a complete mess she looks. When she planned out her homecoming in her head, she was always dressed to kill with flawless make-up, but instead, she’s wearing sweatpants that hang off her, and an old Bob Marley t-shirt with one of Brittany’s hoodie’s over it (the only decent thing really). It’s all topped off with some dirty old Converse she’s had since the summer of sophomore year. Classy.

Still, Brittany’s the only person who really gets to see her this way, and it feels kind of appropriate.

She’s careful when she searches for the spare door key nestled inside the huge ornamental rose bush the Pierces have on their porch. Usually, she’d play it up a little and climb up to Brittany’s window, Romeo and Juliet style – Brittany would appreciate the romance – but she’s so tired, she’s scared she’ll fall and break her neck. There’s something comforting about finding that key amongst the earth, it means some things have actually stayed the way she wanted.

***

There’s a horrible moment when she thinks the Pierces burglar alarm is going to trip, and Brittany’s father will come barrelling down the stairs with the baseball bat he keeps by the bed. He played in high school and college, so he could pretty much take her out with one swing and not even blink.

Luckily, she remembers the combination at the last second, right before it goes off. It’s Brittany’s birth day and month, together with that of her older brother, Justin. When Mrs Pierce let her know the combination one night, while they were looking after Brittany’s little sister, she played it down, but it felt like a huge thing. With those numbers, she’d taken a step closer in terms of trust, but also in terms of what she meant to them, she was becoming family.

She almost has a heart attack when she hears something coming toward her, only to realise it’s Lord Tubbington, waddling across to investigate. He’s rarely out of his ridiculously opulent cat bed in Brittany’s room, so she just takes it as another bad omen. She can count the number of times he’s been banished on one hand, and they were because she couldn’t stand knowing he was there watching any time she and Brittany got near each other.

“Tubbs, you fat little bastard, I missed you,” she whispers, heaving him up to cuddle and scratch behind his ears, so he purrs with contentment. “How’s my Britt-Britt, huh?” she asks, heading for the stairs gingerly. “Have you been looking out for her?”

He doesn't answer, of course, but she thinks maybe he understands, so she carries on talking anyway. She doesn’t know when doing that became ordinary and not ridiculous.

“I swear T, you put some serious pounds on. Are you trying to make the Freshman Fifteen happen?” she laughs at her own joke, adjusting him a little bit, as if he were a baby, because her left arm is starting to go dead. He meows all too loudly in reply, and she freezes on the top stair directly opposite Brittany’s room.

She steps lightly, careful to avoid all the floorboards that creek. “Sorry, T, gotta put you down now. Britt-Britt needs love too,” she says, dropping him down.

Brittany’s door is a little ajar, and she can see light from the TV in the corner, sound muted. It’s stuck on the Discovery channel, showing some documentary about manatees. Brittany does it for comfort, like a nightlight, whenever she’s not there. The room looks a lot different from what she remembers, but maybe her mind’s just playing tricks. It’s still a struggle to see in the light, but she can do well enough, gathering Brittany’s discarded clothes out of habit as she picks a path to her bed. There’s still the huge photo collage on one wall, that’s full of New Directions and Cheerios pictures at various stages, but the Britney, Rihanna and Beyoncé posters are all gone. In their place, is a huge study schedule, pages torn from the prospectuses of NYADA, Tisch, and Juilliard, and a huge Cardinals flag that she sent in an early care package. Brittany’s changed, so much it seems, in such a short space of time.

She turns again to reach for the remote and shut off the TV, when she sees the stack of textbooks and notes on Brittany’s desk next to her laptop. Santana knew she’d been working hard, because of all the time they’d spent together over the summer, but she’s hit a whole new level. There’s a math test from a few days ago on the top of the pile, with a C+ in the corner. Brittany hadn’t shared it with her, and it makes her feel desperately sad, because her opening gambit on Skype has always been how well she’s doing in class.

Reaching Brittany’s bed, she stands there for a moment, just looking at her. She’s snuggled up, covers high, like she always is on cold nights like this, sound asleep. When she moves closer, and kneels down to touch her, she sees the remnants of tears. Brittany cried herself to sleep.

Santana purses her lips closed and fights not to cry. The last thing she wants is Brittany to wake up and see her sobbing like a baby.

“Oh Britt-Britt,” she whispers, sadly, as she strokes Brittany’s hair.

She’s watched Brittany sleep thousands of times, fascinated, drinking in her every feature, every tiny freckle and beauty mark, and she always looks so beautiful and at peace, but she can tell something’s not right this time.

After the hours of driving and the skulking around to get here, she’s not sure what to do. Kiss her awake and it might be weird, speak and it might be weird. Hell, it just might be weird. All they’ve had for weeks is computer screens and cell phone screens. What if things have changed? Surprises aren’t always good.

So, in the end, she goes for both, kissing Brittany on the cheek, gently, before she says, “Britt, wake up,” as softly as she can.

Brittany murmurs in her sleep and turns on to her side. Santana fights laughing because it’s so adorable, reminding her of an old camcorder video she’s watched of a much smaller Brittany, being woken on Christmas morning, confused for a moment, before she realised what was happening and squealed with excitement. Santana hopes she’ll get the same reaction. Now the covers are turned down slightly, she sees something she didn’t before. Brittany is clinging to the Cardinals teddy bear she bought for dear life, and the realisation hits Santana square in the chest. Brittany does it all the time, she slept with the gigantic dog Santana won her at the fair over the summer when she maxed out the strength test machine, but there’s something sadder about Brittany clutching that teddy tonight, Cardinals heart pendant around her neck.

This isn’t home to Brittany anymore, and it should be.

“Britt,” she repeats, slightly louder. And slowly, Brittany opens her eyes.

“Santana?” she squeaks out, her voice sounds weak and raw, like she’s been yelling for a long time. Santana leans back and Brittany sits up, turning on the lamp that sits on her nightstand. “Santana!” she says, brighter, as it clicks in her mind. “You’re here!”

“I am,” Santana smiles, kissing Brittany’s hand.

“I’m not dreaming am I?” Brittany asks, puzzled, running a hand through her hair. “I dream about you so much and it feels really real.”

“You’re not dreaming, baby. I promise,” she stands up and climbs on to the bed. “Coz if you were, you wouldn’t feel this,” she cradles Brittany’s face in her hands, thumbs stroking at her cheeks before she presses a light kiss to Brittany’s lips. When Santana pulls back, Brittany’s eyes are still closed.

Santana’s heart speeds in her chest, drinking in that beautiful indescribable shade of blue that’s just Brittany when she opens them again.

“You drove all the way from Louisville just for me?” Brittany says, disbelieving.

“Anything for you ...” she shrugs, blushing. “I missed my Britt-Britt.”

“I missed you too. So much,” Brittany says, barely above a whisper. “It feels like forever since I kissed you.”

“I kissed you about ten seconds ago, B.” Santana teases.

Brittany swats her arm, playfully. “I mean properly ... sweet lady kisses,” she replies, glancing away, bashful.

“Well, Miss Pierce,” she grins at her, “since you asked so nicely, how can I refuse?”

Santana scoots forward, closing the distance between them, pressing her lips carefully to Brittany’s. It’s silly, that they’re being so chaste, given how many times Brittany’s practically thrown her on this bed and covered her in a barrage of passionate, seemingly endless kisses, but she wants this still to be perfect and special, and not take anything for granted.

Brittany moans into her mouth, pulling her closer, wrapping an arm around her neck. It takes all her will to keep it soft and slow, because it’s been weeks since she’s felt Brittany’s mouth on hers. Weeks since she’s felt Brittany’s arms around her, holding her as tight as humanly possible, fingertips threading tight into her hair. Weeks since she’s let her kisses drift down Brittany’s neck, laving attention on impossibly soft skin.

There’s no awkwardness. They still fit. It’s a relief.

She breaks away, brushing Brittany’s deliciously tousled hair off her shoulders. “Better baby?” she whispers, right into Brittany’s ear, before dropping a kiss on to Brittany’s cheek.

“Yes,” is all Brittany can muster, said in the exhale of a slow, shaky breath. “I think you got more beautiful since you went away,” she continues, cradling Santana’s face and studying her intently.

“Nuh-uh,” Santana shakes her head, ignoring the flush creeping up from her toes. “You did. Sexiest senior I ever did see!”

“Shut up!” Brittany gives a little squeal. “I look a mess!”

She doesn’t, because blue fluffy duck pyjamas will never not be cute.

“Shusssh!” Santana says, fearful. “I don’t want your dad in here with his baseball bat!”

“He’d never hit you,” Brittany grins, and her whole face lights up. She immediately realises how much she’s missed it. “You’re his favourite girlfriend.”

She tilts her head, mock outraged. “How many girlfriends have you had exactly?!”

“Just one,” Brittany pecks her on the lips. “The best one ever.”

“Britt-Britt.”

She hugs her, just because she can, wrapping her up tight. Brittany sighs contentedly, and Santana rests her head on Brittany’s shoulder.

“You smell good,” Brittany coos.

Santana laughs. “Just Lux, B.”

“No, you smell like coffee and cigarettes, and you ... and Lux.”

Santana just sighs, because she’s missed this. She’s missed how unbelievably sweet and adorable Brittany is, and it’s such a change from Louisville, and Nicole and her boy drama, and the small group of girls she’s befriended on the squad – Lindsey, Caitlyn, Zoe and Becca – because it doesn’t feel like hard work when she’s here in Brittany’s arms, talking about nothing. She doesn’t even have to try and fill the gaps in the conversation because there rarely are any, and even then, it’s the most comfortable silence she’s ever fallen into.

“San?”

Santana lifts her head. “Hmm?”

“You want to cuddle with me? It’s cold.”

“I’d love to, baby,” she smiles, reaching to unlace her sneakers and kick them off. “I missed our cuddle time. I missed sleeping here in your super comfy bed. The dorm bed sucks, you’re gonna be so squashed up when you visit. I missed wa –”

She stops short, because Brittany doesn’t really need to know how cold and lonely that tiny bed feels without her in it. She’s taken to hugging the decorative pillows her father bought her, just so she has something to hold on to.

“I miss it too,” Brittany breathes, pulling back the covers to invite her in, shifting over so she can take her usual spot on the left side of the bed.

Even though it’s freezing, she gets up and takes off her hoodie, shimmying out of her sweatpants, so she’s just left in her Bob t-shirt and panties. She wants to be as close to Brittany as she can, skin to skin wherever possible, because she’s missed the feeling of her to the point that it aches, and not in that completely delicious way Brittany usually inspires.

“Wow,” Brittany comments, gazing at her.

“What?”

She looks down at herself, because she has no idea what Brittany’s talking about, until Brittany points to the spot where her t-shirt is ruckled, revealing skin, abs, that have been honed from weeks of gym classes with Nicole and practice with the other girls.

“Oh,” she says, pulling down her shirt. “I wanted to look good for you.”

It’s not a lie, exactly, but all the training has given her something to focus on. Something to fill this massive Brittany Susan Pierce shaped hole she has in her life.

“You always look good,” Brittany drawls, patting the space on the mattress with a mischievous grin.

That alone is worth the hellish drive. If she’s not careful, she’ll fall asleep the second she gets in and she won’t get to the bottom of this JBI mess, and what made Brittany so angry. Even thinking those words is weird.

As soon as Brittany throws the covers back over them, it feels ridiculously right. Everything’s warm and lovely. There’s Brittany, and soft linen, and all she can smell is that insanely gorgeous fabric conditioner that Brittany’s mom uses. She’s lost count of the times she’s sat on the counter of the Pierces utility room, sniffing the damn bottle like a junkie while she and Brittany separated out colours and whites to help out. She always associates it with Brittany, but she doesn’t have a reminder of it in Louisville. The scent is fading from the clothes Brittany let her borrow, and she can’t find it anywhere, not even after spending forty minutes in the cleaning aisle of the supermarket near campus.

***

She just takes a moment to gaze at Brittany, just because, and then dots all over her jawline and cheeks before drifting back up, capturing Brittany’s bottom lip and sucking it in, because she knows how much Brittany loves it. Before she realises, she’s pushing Brittany on to her back and she has her hands threaded deep into Brittany’s hair, kissing her for all she’s worth, as if that can somehow take away all the pain and sadness she saw on the video. Maybe it can.

“Honey,” Brittany mumbles against her lips, “You’re squashing Brad.”

She pulls back, utterly confused. “I’m what?!”

“Brad,” Brittany repeats, lifting her hips slightly before producing the teddy she saw before. The bear’s face is covered almost entirely by the hood of his tiny Cards sweatshirt. Santana bursts out laughing, and has to put a hand over her mouth to cover it.

“Oh Britt-Britt, that’s fucking adorable!” she leans down and kisses her again before turning back on to her side. Brittany mirroring her, clinging to Brad for dear life. “Why the hell did you call it Brad?”

“Piano Brad,” Brittany says, like it’s entirely obvious. “He played songbird for us, remember?” she continues, tangling their fingers together.

“Of course I do!” she pauses to kiss Brittany’s hand. “That’s so sweet.”

Songbird seems like five minutes ago and five years ago at the same time. If only she’d been braver. If only she’d let Brittany know how much she really felt that little bit faster. They wasted so much time.

“I’m so glad you’re here, San,” Brittany says, quietly, propping the teddy between them both, and Santana has to glance away, because for all the happiness in her voice, there’s something off-kilter and desperate about it too. “You’re kind of crazy for driving at night, though.”

“You’re worth it,” Santana takes a breath, nervous to broach the subject for fear of upsetting her. “Baby,” she begins, toying with the end of Brittany’s pyjama top, knuckles brushing against her skin. “Did something happen at school today?”

Brittany stiffens in her arms, and she regrets it immediately.

“Not really. Boring classes. The only thing good was Glee. We did Britney again,” she explains hurriedly, the tiniest hint of joy in her voice when she mentions Britney Spears. “I wish we could’ve sung together,” she adds, and Santana sees tears in her eyes.

“Britt,” she prompts, gently, “if there was something wrong, you’d tell me, right? You promised,” she forges on, holding Brittany’s gaze, swallowing down the pain she feels as Brittany starts to break down. “Just because I can’t be here when I want doesn’t mean I don’t think about you all the time,” she reaches, stroking Brittany’s cheek with the back of her hand, brushing away the tear that rolls down.

“I ... no one even notices me ... no one cares, but you.”

“Oh baby, that’s not true.”

“Isn’t it?” Brittany says, in weak little voice, and something in Santana breaks. “And, I just got so, so angry. I just missed you so much. I keep looking around all the time, thinking you’ll be there and you’re not.”

“Britt-Britt!” she croaks out, tears spilling over.

“Then, I messed up the Britney performance on purpose and Mr Schue got mad, and JBI kept asking me stupid questions and I ...” she looks off, ashamed. “I hit him, lots of times,” the penny drops for her then, “but you already knew didn’t you? It’s why you came.”

“A friend of JBI’s sent me a video.”

“Are you mad?”

Santana springs up, because she can’t believe what Brittany’s just said.

“Why would I be mad? The little creep probably had it coming. I’m more worried about you,” she replies, kissing Brittany briefly to comfort her. “What made you so angry?” she asks, tentative, afraid of the answer.

“School. It’s too hard. I’m trying hard and studying a lot but it doesn’t make any difference.”

“I saw your grade! You’re a fricken genius, baby. Everyone else just needs to realise it. I’m proud of you.”

At this, Brittany smiles, but it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She doesn’t believe her.

“I’m not as smart as the girls you go to college with. I never will be.”

“Brittany!” she yells, all too loud, because she can’t stand this, she can’t stand to see her so defeated. She was so wrapped up in her own crap with Finn and Reggie Salazar and her abuela that she lost sight of things, and making sure Brittany was more than fine is one of them. “Don’t you ever say that again!”

“It’s true. Everything’s going wrong, San. My parents still hate me. That evil Kitty girl is trying to take my spot, and all I want to do is be with you and I can’t. You’re gonna get bored and leave me behind for good!” Brittany’s face is streaming with tears, and Santana can’t breathe.

“Britt, c’mere,” Santana reaches, but Brittany doesn’t move an inch. “Listen to me. Your parents love you beyond words, Britt. They just want the best for you. That Kitty skank is going to get some vicious words from me when I get a look at her. If she touches you, you tell me, OK?” she pauses to wipe away Brittany’s tears, waiting for a nod before she continues, “I don’t care where I am, or what time of day it is, if you ever feel like this again, call me, because I hate it when you’re upset.”

Brittany nods slowly, biting her lip. “OK.”

“Promise?” she tilts her head, trying to catch Brittany's eye.

“I promise.”

“Oh, and just so you know,” she starts, earnestly, feeling her voice giving out, “I’ll love you for as long as I’m breathing.”

“Even when you’re old like Mrs Hagberg?” Brittany chokes out.

“Older than her. Ancient!” she lets out a little laugh. “And you know what?”

Brittany’s brows furrow, and she toys with Brad’s sweatshirt, looking nervous suddenly, “What?”

“You’ll still be the most beautiful girl ... woman, I’ve ever seen.”

Brittany face lights up, confident, sadness leaving her again. “Yeah, but you’ll be mine, so I won’t care what I look like.”

“I will be,” she assures. “Always.”

Brad gets tucked in between them again when she pulls Brittany close, but it doesn’t matter this time. It’s moments like this she’s missed, when they’re just lying together, Brittany’s head on her chest, clinging to her tight. She runs her fingers through Brittany’s hair slowly, knowing it relaxes her, and helps her get to sleep faster.

“Honey, don’t do that, it makes me sleepy,” Brittany murmurs, stifling a yawn.

“It’s OK, close your eyes,” she kisses Brittany atop the head.

Brittany lifts her head up, pouting a little, “I want to talk, I want to hear about everything.”

“You will. Tomorrow.”

“You’re still gonna be here, and you’ll have breakfast and everything, like always? Won’t you get in trouble?”

The fact Brittany even questions it makes a horrible heavy feeling settle in her chest. She might get in trouble, her Criminal Law professor is a raging bitch, but she’ll deal with that later. Brittany’s more important right now.

“Of course! I won’t miss your mom’s pancakes for anything! I’ll take you to school if you want? Drop in on Coach Sylvester, Mr Schue maybe …” she tails off, because Brittany’s smiling ridiculously wide and she just wants to keep seeing it.

“Yes!” Brittany clutches at her excitedly, “Come to Glee, see everyone, sing with me!”

“B, I don’t know if I’m allowed,” she replies, hating that she has to burst her bubble.

“Mr Schue won’t even care! He loves you, not as much as me, but, he does.”

Her plans are snowballing in her mind, and it’d be kind of nice to hang out again, even if it’s only for a little while. She hasn’t sung in weeks apart from in the shower, and she kind of misses it.

“Please?” Brittany pouts again, on purpose. “We suck without you, Rachel, and Mercedes. There’s a new girl, Marley, and she’s nice and she has a super pretty voice, but she’s not you.”

“OK, OK,” she concedes, and Brittany presses quick pecks to her lips one after the other as reward. She pulls away grudgingly, because they’re starting to linger, and as much as she really wants more right now, she doesn’t want Brittany to be walking around school like a zombie. “Britt, you need to sleep.”

“I know. I just like having you here to talk to again. This is so much better than Skype.”

“Me too,” she says, with a content sigh as Brittany settles back against her.

Fighting sleep, Santana listens to Brittany’s breathing even out, getting deeper, knowing she’s finally fallen asleep. She lets her eyes close at last, feeling safer and more grounded than she has in weeks.

The rest of the world can wait.


End file.
